


One of Those Nights

by skyenapped



Series: Preston Michael Specter [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Empty Nest Syndrome, Father-Son Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Protective Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyenapped/pseuds/skyenapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston was eighteen now, but only for six days. It showed, in a young face and grey-green eyes, but when he spoke it was like another two years had come and gone; everything from start to finish was wisdom, and the bits and pieces that were still pure helpless teenager broke Mike’s heart a thousand times between Manhattan and Harvard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Those Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Harvey and Mike drop their son off at college and neither one of them knows how to let go. 
> 
> Primarily Mike's POV. (And assuming he went back and got his degree, because I don't like thinking he spent his whole career as a fraud.) There's not much backstory to this, but basically, they got married circa 2014 and adopted their son when he was about a year old. (This didn't work out as a future fic for their kid in my other story, so voila! different kid.)
> 
> I wrote this because I was sad and also because the idea of them as parents will be the death of me.

__`_ _

_Someday when you’re looking back on your life and the memories_   
_This is gonna be_   
_One of those nights_

_`_

**August 17, 2031**

 

The ride to Cambridge was lively. Harvey hummed quietly to the radio, sounds of afternoon traffic filtered through the windows, and Mike spent the duration with his neck craned so he was looking into the backseat at their son while they talked.

Preston was eighteen now, but only for six days. It showed, in a young face and grey-green eyes, but when he spoke it was like another two years had come and gone; everything from start to finish was wisdom, and the bits and pieces that were still pure helpless teenager broke Mike’s heart a thousand times between Manhattan and Harvard.

 

*

For Mike, everything after getting all of their son’s belongings into his dorm room was like a slow motion camera reel into the past. He watched Harvey help put curtains up, and his mind flashed back to standing in a doorway at home, fourteen years ago, while Harvey did the same thing, only then the fabric was covered in little racecars.

Dinner was as happy as it was depressing, but Mike was too busy snap-shotting every moment to focus on which emotion he felt most.

He noticed little things all over again. Like how his son touched his face and then the menu when he ordered; hardly even worth noting, except Mike knew it was a small, learned, nervous behavior he’d absolutely passed on at some point over the years.

And even if it wasn’t by blood, Mike liked to think that they gave Preston his blonde hair.

Apart from that, Mike saw so much of Harvey in his son it left him speechless. From the food they ordered, the way they laughed on cue, said the same thing at the same time, matched each other fact for fact if ever a legal conversation took place.  

Three hours went by in that restaurant, and then Harvey was paying the bill, and Preston was drumming his fingers on the table in a rhythm Mike had seen him use so many times on their piano. Preston had this ability from day one to carve melody out of thin air, like it was nothing, like it was an art he never had to master because he was just born with the talent, with the ear, with the hands.

Some of Mike’s favorite memories consisted of watching his husband all choked up, arms crossed, as their son deftly recreated one of Gordon’s songs without the clicks and pops.

For lawyers, Mike knew that he and Harvey, analytical as they were, should think it was all just coincidence and circumstance. But most days, looking at the young man they’d raised, it was hard to believe all of it wasn’t one hundred percent meant to be.

Mike couldn’t picture them having ever had a different kid. Couldn’t imagine another toddler crying during the night, back when they were still figuring out parenthood through a lot of trial and error. He couldn’t picture a different five year old’s handprints in green paint on yellow paper back in 2018, or someone else’s straight-A report card on the refrigerator, or ever writing any name except _Preston Michael Specter,_ or hear another voice calling them _daddy_ and _dad._

And Mike couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how to handle hearing the same voice telling them goodbye.

 

*

They spent all day and half the evening in Cambridge, and time both stood still and slipped away. Eventually they were left standing on a stone path outside of the dorms, their whole life in front them.

Preston had on Harvey’s old collegiate sweatshirt, from roughly 1997, which he liked to joke was _like a million years ago._

He wasn’t entirely wrong. Mike couldn’t even think that far back because he wasn’t a part of Harvey’s life then, wouldn’t be for more than a decade. But he remembered the first time he was handed that same sweatshirt, because they’d been working late, and Harvey’s condo was cold, and _put this on, Rookie, it doesn’t fit me anymore anyway._

After that it was _Mike, I thought I threw this thing away?_ And Mike would grab it and tell him, _It’s mine, you gave it to me._

That turned into Harvey coming home from work to find Mike on the couch with a sleepy three-year-old in his arms. _One day he’ll fit into this sweatshirt and it’s the only reason I’m letting you keep it around._

Mike had only laughed, rolled his eyes and said, _Harvey, he’s three. We don’t even know his favorite color. A little early to be pushing Harvard on him, don’t you think?_

 

It took five full seconds for Mike realize he was finally so lost in thought that it took both Harvey and Preston to bring him back to the present.

“Mike.” Harvey’s hand was at the back of his neck. “Hey.”

“Yeah…” Mike looked up. “What?”

“I said it’s getting late, we should get back on the road.”

“Right, right.”

Harvey nodded toward Preston. “He has orientation tomorrow. Early, right, kiddo?”

Mike sighed. “Okay, yeah. You should sleep, then. Like, immediately go to bed and sleep and—”

Preston rolled his eyes. “Daddy, I know, I know, chill, I’ll sleep.”

“Alright, then….” Mike stole a glance at Harvey, who seemed to know exactly the kind of task he had before him if it was his job to drag _both_ of them away. “I guess we’re…we’re gonna go, so…”

Harvey was the first to cut the cord; outstretching a hand that Mike was swore he saw shake for the first time.

Preston shook it with the same ferocity he’d learned from Harvey, and he leaned in and let his father pull him into a tight hug. Neither one of them wanted to be the first to break it.

A few feet away, Mike couldn’t hear what Harvey said against Preston’s shoulder, but whatever it was, it had their son wiping away tears when he finally pulled back.

Preston was looking up at Harvey the same way Mike always had – with respect, and loyalty, and more than a little awe – and suddenly Mike just knew. _I'm proud of you; I love you.  
_

Like he was a soldier trying not to break, Preston straightened up, looked Harvey in the eye, and in a young, crackling voice, said, “I love y-you too, Dad.”

Harvey gave him a warm smile that few people probably would’ve thought he was even capable of. But Mike knew it, and Preston knew it, and it was gentle, and encouraging, and paternal and somehow it made everything okay.

When Preston turned to Mike, both of their eyes were swimming. And it reminded Mike that his son used to have a tendency to come to him with problems first, because Harvey always had such high expectations, even though he was all mush and understanding when it came down to it.

Still, Preston had always cried a little more freely around Mike, like after scraping his knee or getting his first and last bad grade.

But now, determined to stay at least this stoic, he swallowed back his tears instead and just pressed his face into the corner of his father’s neck and shoulder.

“I love you so much,” Mike said calmly. Sometimes it still surprised him that he’d adapted to parenthood as quickly as he had (much faster than Harvey, in fact, which was interesting since _Harvey_ was the one with the history of taking in orphans.) Whatever it was, though, instinct or just the desire to give back the one thing he’d lost as a kid, Mike had leapt into the deep end and swam. And now, as he’d done for the past seventeen years, he put his own emotions on hold in favor of his son’s.

“Be good,” he continued. “Call us, study, and we’ll see you in few months. Okay?”

Preston nodded obediently. “Okay.”

“Come here, kid,” Harvey said, drawing him in again long enough to kiss his forehead and mumble, “Knock ‘em dead.”

Turning around felt like pulling at the gears of the Queen Mary, the way Mike’s head kept turning back of its own accord. Harvey’s hand on his lower back was all that was keeping him going.

“Bye, Pres,” they both called.

And then, a pair of 600 dollar sneakers scuffed up the walkway, the doors buzzed opened, and slammed shut, and he was gone.

Mike took the deepest breath of his life.

And let it go.

 

*

The ride home was still. No talking, no radio, roads completely free of traffic.

A couple of hours from New York, they stopped at a diner, mostly for coffee and the distraction. Mike caught his husband’s concerned stare over his cup.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Harvey shrugged. “I just…I’m making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Harvey, you’ve asked me that six times since we left. My answer hasn’t changed.”

“And I’m gonna keep asking until you tell me the truth.” Harvey’s voice softened, “It’s my job, Mike.”

Mike shook his head, slumped back into the booth. “Look, I’m…I don’t know, okay? We just threw our son to the wolves and—”

“It’s college, Mike. It’s not war.”

“I know, but…Harvey, he can’t even buy beer. For god’s sake, he couldn’t even use the microwave until like, last week.”

Harvey smiled. “He’s spoiled. Doesn’t mean he’s helpless.”

“I don’t understand why he had to go to Harvard.”

“He wanted to, Mike. Remember?”

“I  know. But…he could’ve gone anywhere else. Fordham, Columbia, Juliard – hell, even Yale would’ve been closer.”

“He’s gonna be fine, Mike.”

“I know…I just…”

“But that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?”

Mike frowned, “What?”

“You’re afraid he’s not gonna call six times a day, asking you what to wear or what to eat or how to get to class or what to say to the cute girl six seats ahead of him.”

“Harvey, I—”

“I know you want him to be okay, Mike. And he will be. And it’ll feel like he doesn’t need us anymore, but I promise he will. I think you, of all people, know how that goes.”

Nodding, Mike bit his lip at a distant but painful memory. He closed his eyes and then felt a strong, familiar hand in his, tugging him up to his feet.

“Let’s go home, rookie.”

 

*

Admittedly, Mike tossed and turned the first few nights after leaving Preston at Harvard. But after four phone calls, six emails, and a long Skype conversation, even he – protective, frothing wild animal parent – had enough common sense to know there was nothing else he could do but carry on.

And if he’d secretly considered trying to convince Preston to come home, to go to a university in the city, he didn’t bring it up. Especially not to Harvey, to whom life seemed, for the most part, business as usual.

At 57, hands still full with their monopoly firm Specter-Specter, Harvey finally realized what it was like to fill Jessica’s shoes. And it was good.

 

*

A few weeks went by and Mike busied himself with work and cases, overloading his brain to the point where even Harvey – hardened workaholic – told him to back off and slow down.

But the silence at home was deafening. They could both feel it, but they didn’t talk about it, not yet. Some days they even got ready for work without a single word, never bringing up the sudden, massive void in their life.

The nights were even more strangely placid. There was no sound of the TV in the living room long after they’d gone to their room. No sounds of Preston on his cell phone, or digging through the refrigerator, or sneaking in at 3am like Harvey didn’t have the ears of an owl and there wouldn’t be a Spanish Inquisition before he could make it from the front door to his bedroom.

There was no one slinging a backpack down onto the floor or leaving clothes everywhere.

No one waking up on Saturday to sleepily wander into their bed, and Mike wondered how the hell they’d gone from having that four year old in the house, to this.

Mike knew the law like he knew the back of Harvey’s hand; and legally, _technically,_ it said that Preston was an adult. But Mike thought that was ludicrous. Because he was just a kid, because he was their _baby,_ and it was going to take a lot more than four hours and eighteen years to change that.

 

*

Halfway through October, on a Friday, Mike passed by Preston’s room to notice the light was on.

“Hey,” he said gently, when he saw that Harvey was on the edge of the bed, turning something over and over in his hands. “What are you doing?”

Harvey shrugged, quickly wiping his eyes. He may have been going for discreet but seventeen years of marriage told him he wasn’t slipping this past Mike.

Preston’s room was dim, except for the light coming in from the doorway. It cast a dark shadow on one side of Harvey’s face, but on the other side was a spotlight.

His hair was almost completely grey now, but he just as a beautiful as Mike could ever remember him being. And he still didn’t look his age, not even close. His chin and jaws were slightly unshaven, because he wasn’t rushing to meet clients a hundred times a day anymore.

Time, and raising a kid in his forties, and yet Harvey looked more rested, more peaceful, more content _now_ than he ever had when they’d met twenty years ago.

No matter how many times Mike noticed that, it still caught him off guard. And none of those years had ever tempered the way he felt. He was still so in love with Harvey he had to stop every now and then just to catch his breath.

“You okay?” he asked.

Harvey nodded but didn’t look up. His fingers were tracing a photo that Mike remembered taking like it was yesterday instead of fifteen years ago, of Preston against Harvey’s hip with a stuffed animal in his hand, face against Harvey’s chest.

“Found this in his desk,” Harvey said quietly. “I remember it, but I don’t remember you taking our picture.”

“I took a lot of pictures of you two when you weren’t looking.”

“It’s good. He never would stay still for the ones we planned.”

“Stubborn,” Mike sighed. “I don’t know where he got that from.”

Harvey gently elbowed him. “Alright. I get it.”

Mike laughed and rested his head on his husband’s shoulder.

“You know what I miss most?” Harvey pointed to the piano in the corner of the room. “We don’t get to hear that anymore.”

“Me too. We’ll tie him to it on Thanksgiving until we can’t stand it anymore,” Mike joked, and Harvey did laugh a little at that, but his eyes were still misty.

“I thought about driving up there this weekend,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to…I don’t know, impose.”

“He’ll be home in a month.”

“I might make him stay.”

Mike grinned and nuzzled against Harvey’s shirt. “No you won’t. You practically die of pride when you tell people he’s at Harvard.”

“I know. I just…fuck, Mike, I’m not good at this. He’s my whole…he’s my entire life. You and him, you’re my whole life. He knows that, doesn’t he?”

“Of course he does, Harvey.”

It took a little longer for Harvey to let go, but when he did, he set the picture back on Preston’s desk and lied down. Mike followed suit, draping an arm across Harvey’s chest and hooking his leg around one knee. And they didn’t say anything else, just breathed until they fell asleep, heads on a pillow with faded little racecars.

 

*

Mike’s phone rang the next morning, early, and Harvey was the first to hear it.

His voice was heavy with sleep when he answered, too tired to even see who was calling.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Dad?”

And Harvey was sitting up, wide awake. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s up? You okay?”

Preston’s laugh on the other end of the line was relief going straight into Harvey’s veins. “I’m fine, Dad. It happens to be Daddy’s birthday, in case you forgot, so I thought I’d call and like, talk to him.”

“Right, right, I didn’t forget. He’s asleep, but I’ll wake him for you, hold on—”

“No, no, you don’t have to wake him. I can call back.”

“He won’t mind, Preston. What are you doing up this early on Saturday anyway?”

“I’m taking a couple pre-reqs on Saturday.” Preston sounded unimpressed. “I told you guys, remember? If I finish them early, I can start taking courses that are actually related to my major.”

“Class on Saturday?” Harvey asked. “That’s awfully bold.”

“It’s only for half the semester. And you did it.”

“Well, I was brilliant.”

“So am I.”

“Don’t be cocky.”

“What? I learned from the best.”

Harvey grinned, holding the phone with one hand while shoving Mike’s shoulder with the other.

“Okay, kiddo, I’m getting your father in one second but you know how he is.”

“Allergic to mornings.”

“Exactly.”

Mike finally stirred from Harvey’s increasingly insistent jabs. “Ow! Fuck, Harvey,” he groaned. “Seriously?”

Harvey covered phone with his palm. “Your son’s on the phone,” he hissed. “I can’t exactly wake you up the usual way.”

“Point taken. Is he okay?” Mike snatched his phone and sat up. “Pres? You okay?”

“I’m _fine._ God, you two are pathetic. Do you just sit around worrying all day or do you still do lawyer stuff?”

“You’ll understand one day. Why are you up so early?”

Preston sighed. “Ask Dad. I called you to say happy birthday. But I don’t know how old you are.”

“Good,” Mike laughed. “I’m not telling you.”

“Fine. You guys should think about taking a vacation.”

“We have a law firm to run. But I’ll pass the idea on to your father.”

“Okay, well, I bought my train tickets for next month so I wanted to know if I can expect to be picked up or if I have to take the subway.”

“If the subway is beneath you, expect to walk,” Mike said, but he caved quickly. Another month felt like years that they had to wait, and every second they could see their son sooner Mike intended to take. “You know we’ll be there.”

“Thanks. So…I guess, celebrate and don’t do anything too strenuous because at forty-two—”

“Hey! I thought you didn’t know—” Mike was cut off by Harvey stealing the phone back.

“No drinking,” he said sternly.

Mike leaned in close. “No drugs.”

“So I can’t do keg stands anymore?”

“Not funny, Pres,” Mike replied. He glanced up at Harvey, only to find him smirking at the sarcasm.

“Bor _ing!”_

“Go to class, Preston.”

Mike sighed when the call ended. After a few minutes he asked, “We did good. Right?”

Harvey pulled him into a reassuring hug and nodded. “We did _great,”_ he said. “Happy birthday, rookie.”

 

*

Thanksgiving was out of a movie, and if Mike had to describe it in one word: Perfect.

Sun poured in through the windows and in the background, under familiar voices and excited chatter, was the gentle sound of jazz music.

The kitchen was hot and occasionally full of steam, and it smelled amazing.

“Marcus wants to talk to you,” Mike announced. He came up behind Harvey and ran his fingers through salt and pepper hair. “I think Jessica has him cornered.”

Harvey grinned. “I’ll let him sweat.”

“Just go to your brother, Harvey. I think me and Donna can handle the food.”

At the sink, Donna looked over her shoulder. _“I_ can handle it.”

Mike rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you two go fawn over Thelonious Monk, I know you’re dying to.”

“We’re fine, Donna.”

Donna scoffed. “You’re dying to carry him around for the next 72 hours, but you can’t, because he’s not five years old anymore. But you _can_ smother him for three more days before he goes running back to school.”

She shooed them out of the kitchen. “Send me some elves.”

Harvey and Mike herded Jessica’s niece and Marcus’ daughter in to replace them, and then wandered out, shoulders brushing.

Through a closely gathered group of friends and colleagues – past and present – Mike looked across the room at the exact moment that Preston angled himself away from the piano to look back. His fingers still moved in perfect, blind rhythm long after their eyes met.

Mike put his hands up in a silent clapping motion and mouthed the words, _I love you._

Preston smiled like his father did, one side of his mouth curving up into a smirk before he turned back around.

 

*

When their condo emptied out that evening, and Donna pitched in to help them clean up before kissing them all on the cheek and leaving, Harvey and Mike collapsed onto the couch.

“We survived another year of that chaos,” Harvey said. He held up his beer in a toast. “To us.”

“Us,” Mike said, smiling as he clanked his own bottle against Harvey’s.

The both looked up at the sound of Preston’s door opening, and their son emerging in a t-shirt and sweats, looking more than content to be in for the night.

“Hey,” Harvey said. “You know, it’s okay if you want to…reunite with your friends while you’re here. You don’t have to—”

“Already did.”

“What?” Mike asked. “When?”

“Last night,” Preston answered. “You guys go to sleep at like nine o’clock.” He reached for the remote and snorted, “Or at least you go in your _room_ at nine o’clock.”

Harvey rolled his eyes and then narrowed them curiously. “Where’d you go?”

“A few bars, a strip club, casino. The usual. …What? Relax, Dad, we just went to shoot some pool, lighten up.” Preston looked at Mike and whispered, “He’s so serious.”

“Sometimes,” Mike agreed fondly.

“I have two kids,” Harvey sighed. “What are we watching, Pres?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Something from this century, hopefully.”

“Smartass.”

Mike laughed and put his arm around his son. Sunday would sneak up on them, and their hourglass would run out, and all they could do was hold on tight.

 

*

On a familiar walkway on campus, for the second time that fall, Harvey and Mike stood shoulder to shoulder. Preston was only a few feet away.

“You know I coulda took the train, right?”

“We like driving you,” Mike said. “Taking you out to eat, making a day of it.”

“Yeah,” Harvey nodded in agreement. “I put way too much time into you to just throw you on an Amtrak like cargo.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Don’t mention it. Now do you have everything? Computer, money, phone?”

“All of the above,” Preston replied.

Harvey sighed. “All right then. Mike?”

“I’m ready,” Mike said, even though he wasn’t, and never would be, and Harvey already knew it. He hugged Preston tight, murmured _I love you_ into his ear, and then pried himself away.

“Be good,” Harvey said.

“I am, Dad.”

“I know, baby.”

Mike’s feet felt like lead when they turned to leave. He knew it would never get any easier, but he hoped they’d get stronger. Otherwise every holiday was going to be a contest over who could cry the hardest.

This was it. Holding on and letting go would be their life for the next four to eight years.

 

The walk back to their car felt like miles. Inside, as Harvey started the engine and turned the heat on, Mike shivered.

“Our baby’s in college, Harvey,” he said, part pensiveness, part disbelief.

Harvey laughed and rested his right hand on Mike’s knee. “Our baby’s in _Harvard.”_

Mike nodded and smiled, covering his husband’s hand with his own and leaning his head back against the seat.

“I love you,” he heard Harvey say, when they drove off, and he squeezed his hand because that was code for _I love you too._

Then Mike took a deep breath.

And let it go.

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn't until I wrote the sweatshirt part that it occurred to me it's probably impossible for it to last 35 years, but then again I don't think anyone knows enough about fabric to dispute this ;)


End file.
